My Health Story
After sharing a post about the importance of forgiveness, I thought I'd share my own story behind my major health issue two years ago. Forgiveness is very much part of my story.
As shared in my first post on this blog, I've always enjoyed health. When I was just a girl in school, Bible and health were my favorite subjects. But it wasn't until two years ago that I learned so much more about things in regards to our health.
And so, this is where my story begins.
In April of 2019, I went into the hospital on a Saturday morning with severe, lower left, abdominal pain. I'd been in agony the night before crying out to the Lord to take the pain away. I'm glad He didn't. My pain was an indication that something was wrong. Early that Saturday afternoon, I was diagnosed as having a large (11 inch!) tumor coming from my left ovary as seen on a CT scan done on me that morning at the hospital. I was in shock. My diagnosis suddenly explained why my stomach had been getting larger. (I thought it was just weight gain.) This tumor was filling my entire abdomen. I was alone in the room when the doctor told me.
"Is it cancer?" I asked him. The doctor said he didn't know.
After the doctor left the room, I called my family from my cell phone, but there was no answer. I was alone for awhile. I was scared. I had thoughts like: What if this tumor is cancer? Will I die soon?
Three days later, I met with a medical doctor, a woman specializing in OBGYN, who was referred to me by our local hospital and connected to it. After waiting for three very long days (ironically, over Easter weekend!), I met with that doctor the following Tuesday afternoon.
She gave me the long awaited details. What I had was a very large, completely fluid filled, ovarian cyst, and based on my test results, it didn't appear to be cancer. What an enormous sigh of relief that was!
What caused the cyst? This doctor said she didn't know.
"How long do you think I've had it for it to be this large?" I asked her.
She said didn't know for certain, but her reply was:
"I'm going to guess about 5 years for it to be that large."
She wanted to perform surgery on me the following month (May) to take out the cyst along with my left ovary and fallopian tube. I cried.
It was one thing for her to take out the cyst. It was another thing for her to remove my left ovary and tube. I told the doctor I would get back to her about scheduling surgery. In the meantime, I went home and prayed and thought about what to do. In the words of this doctor, I looked 6 months pregnant.
Since I knew the cyst was not cancer and had already been inside me for many years, I decided to give myself three months to see if I could possibly dissolve it naturally through some diet changes and high quality supplements. If that didn't work, I would have surgery instead.
From May 1st - August 1st of that year, I faithfully followed a protocol given to me by a natural doctor. Though I noticed some small, positive changes in my body, a second CT scan done on August 1st revealed no change whatsoever in the size of the cyst.
I was devastated but scheduled to have surgery two weeks later in mid August. I came down with a cold that went through our home a week before that surgery date, so I had to cancel surgery then. But God was in those details.
Through a chain of events, I found another medical doctor, another woman specializing in OBGYN, through our larger, better, local hospital. This doctor was so kind, so caring, and was someone I trusted. I absolutely loved her. She was a gift from God.
I had surgery on a beautiful, autumn morning in November of 2019 to remove that large cyst. Lovely, puffy grey and white clouds with sunlight peaking through them stretched across the sky that morning like a soft, cuddly, white blanket enveloping the sky. Those are my favorite kind of clouds. I believe the Lord had the clouds like that for me that morning to remind me of His love and care.
Just before being wheeled in for surgery, while hooked up to IV's and other machines, I saw my doctor. Though slightly sedated by medications I was given just prior to surgery, I kindly pleaded with my doctor, and with tears in my voice said to her, "Please, don't take my ovary."
My doctor's kind reply was that she would try to save it if she could, but she would do what was best for me. One of the nurses, annoyed that I began to cry a little, mumbled quietly under her breath... "Oh, just shut up!"
When I woke up after surgery, so sedated from the anesthesia that I couldn't even open my eyes, my immediate, waking thought was: my ovary is gone. My doctor didn't have to tell me later that day that she had taken it. I knew.
The cyst grew to a total of 12 inches long (the length of a ruler!), and during surgery, my doctor drained a gallon and a half of fluid from it, equivalent to 6 liters of fluid. I was told the entire cyst weighed nearly 15 lbs. I had no idea it weighed that much. If I had known it weighed that much, I would not have tried to dissolve it naturally. Because the cyst was so large, it damaged my left ovary, and my doctor said she felt it was best to take it out. I trusted her decision.
In the words of a nurse during one of my ER visits after surgery, I was carrying the weight of triplets. (thankfully, not the size) I stayed in the hospital overnight after surgery and was released to go home with strong pain medications the next day. Three days later, my test results revealed that the cyst was, indeed, benign.
I was so thankful with my test results, so thankful to have that cyst out of me, so thankful to still have my right ovary and womb, and so thankful I could still have children. But, I was left with a vertical incision on my lower abdomen that was worse than a C section. (which is horizontal) I couldn't stand up straight for about two weeks due to my lower abdomen muscles being cut. I was also without an ovary and tube.
I visited the emergency room twice during the four days after my surgery. I was given morphine on my first trip to the ER because the pain was so unbearable. On my second trip to the ER in the middle of the night, I almost wondered if an angel would appear in the hospital room to take me home to heaven, I was so weak. My monthly cycle came on the very day of my surgery, on top of being cut open and losing an ovary. I bled a lot. Thankfully, I did not need a blood transfusion.
My mom drove me home during the wee hours that Saturday morning, and when I woke up later that morning, I finally saw "the light of day". My body slowly began regaining strength. That Saturday was a quiet, restful day.
The very next day, Sunday, my family went to church, and I was home all alone. I sat up in bed that morning, and with arms lifted high in the air, I worshipped God with music and song for awhile. Indescribable joy filled my heart, and the presence of God filled my bedroom.
That Sunday evening, grief like I've never experienced overtook me. I curled into a ball and wept in my bedroom for nearly three days over what I'd lost. I lived in my nightgown for over a week, but on Thursday, Thanksgiving day, I managed to get dressed and sit at the table with my family.
"Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy Name!"
That was my theme that Thanksgiving. I clung to the truths of Who God is from Psalm 103.
God is good, always good, even when very bad things happen that we don't understand. I was back in the emergency room a third time after surgery, and after that trip, I'd had a total of 5 CT scans done on me that year, before and after surgery. (an enormous amount of radiation!) But, I consented each time the doctors felt they needed to check inside me.
I look back now, with treasured memories, over the time of my surgery and recovery because God's love was so near. I chose to worship and to look for blessings even amidst enormous pain and grief.
During those 6 months before my surgery, May - November, I learned a wealth of health information. Some things I already knew; other things, I did not know.
That is not my entire story though.
My story really began 6 years earlier (from my diagnosis) when I came home in February of 2013 after being in Ghana, West Africa for three months. I was in Africa from November 2012 - February 2013.
I went to Ghana with a missions team to help a married couple, dear friends of mine, with their three young children. This couple went to help with the team, and I felt privileged and honored to help them. There were other people I knew on the team, and I had dear friends serving in Ghana as missionaries.
Before going, I was given a list of recommended vaccinations, one of them being mandatory to enter Ghana. I got all of the recommended vaccines, except for Chicken Pox since I had that naturally as a child. I had something like 10 vaccinations in one day. Thankfully, I was fine with all of them.
I was also given a choice between two malaria medications to take. After reading up on both, I chose one that seemed safe and effective. It was an antibiotic I took every morning with food. It worked well; I never got malaria for which I'm thankful. For the most part, I was fine with that medication, but after three months of being on an antibiotic, it killed the probiotics in me. (very common with antibiotics)
During the last week of January 2013, my final week in Ghana, I got a bad infection from taking that antibiotic on an empty stomach late one morning. I was told to drink lots of water, which I did. By that evening, I was feeling better but still had some lingering symptoms.
I was given another medication that evening, a much stronger antibiotic, to help with that infection. Before taking it, I read the warnings on the box. I'd never read warnings like that before on any medication I've ever taken. Those warnings concerned me, and I decided I didn't want to take that drug.
I shared that I didn't feel safe taking that medication. I was then told something I'd never been told before:
"This is a time in your life when you need to trust and submit to your authorities."
I was stunned. As a child, my parents were my authority. Though I may have been disobedient at times, I was never rebellious. I was a very submissive daughter to my parents growing up.
I tried to kindly state my case, that I would like to submit and take the medication, but I didn't feel safe taking this one. Once again, I was told the importance of learning to submit even when I didn't want to. I was given two choices:
Take the medication and be "submissive" or not take the medication and be "rebellious".
Because I still had some symptoms of an infection, and I didn't want to be viewed as "rebellious", I decided to take it. The box said to take it for 10 days.
I took it for around 5 days, and during that time, I felt a little strange. After 5 days, I decided to stop taking it since I was feeling better from that infection. Ironically, that very day, I was asked:
"By the way, are you still taking that medication?"
My reply was:
"Oh, funny you should ask. I have been taking it, but today, I decided to stop."
I was admonished to continue taking it. Not wanting to be viewed as "rebellious", I continued to take it.
On my last day of taking that medication, I was back in the United States at a Missions Conference. The date was early February 2013. That day, I felt an extremely sharp pain on my lower left side. This was a type of pain I'd never had before. I talked to my mom on my cell phone that day telling her about the pain I was feeling, that something was very wrong.
She assured me that she would take me to see a doctor as soon as I was home. The following week, she did just that. The medical doctor checked for any lingering infection, but nothing was found. Everything appeared to be fine. I was glad for the good report. That sharp pain I had was also gone. Sadly, the doctors didn't know that a small, ovarian cyst had formed on my left ovary.
I was back in that medical doctor's office five more times over the next two years because I knew something wasn't right.
I eventually developed back pain. For several years, I woke up every morning with severe back pain and could never figure out why it would go away after I was up for an hour or so. I now know it was the weight of the cyst pressing on my spine all night, something that went away after my surgery.
For five years (2013 - 2018) and after 7 doctor visits and 2 emergency room visits, I was left with no answers. During those five years, I paid thousands of dollars out of pocket from my own work earnings in a desperate attempt to find out what was wrong and get help. I never dreamed I had a cyst growing.
After having surgery, I described to my doctor who did my surgery the sharp pain I felt after coming home from Africa on that strong medication. Her reply was:
"What you are describing is the beginning of an ovarian cyst, particularly one that is forming quickly."
For me, that was medical confirmation.
I'm still amazed at the damage 10 large, white pills can do. (this particular medication comes with the most serious warning the FDA issues, something called a "black box" warning.)
Sadly, everything I went through goes back to a medication I was told to take against my will.
Most people don't know that part of my story. I hesitated to share that on a public blog, but I have mentioned no names. I hold nothing against those who told me to take that medication, and I love them dearly. I know, for a fact, they meant me no harm. They were doing what they thought was best.
The sad truth is, I felt I wasn't allowed to make a choice myself. I was treated like a 10 year old child rather than the 30 year old woman I was then.
My health issue was not caused by a lack of something within the normal laws of health I've shared about on this blog. My health issue was caused by a very strong medication.
Knowing that a medication I pleaded not to take is what caused the cyst to begin forming, only to end in major surgery with the loss of an organ God created me with, caused me to grieve in a way I can hardly describe.
I now deal with a severe, hormone imbalance during a certain time of month because of losing an ovary. I noticed it before my monthly cycle just a month after surgery. I saw my doctor who did my surgery last November for a yearly check up and told her about it. With incredible compassion, she shared: "That's because you no longer have your other ovary."
I swallowed hard so that I would not begin to cry in front of her. I bawled my eyes out on my drive home that afternoon.
Though I've found some things that have helped, it's no replacement for the ovary God intended to be in my body. Before having that large, ovarian cyst, I had no female issues whatsoever, absolutely none. (other than normal stuff most women deal with during a certain time of month.)
So yes, forgiveness is very much part of my story.
I've heard some people say that you have not truly forgiven unless you forget what happened, but I don't believe that is true.
The Lord Jesus forgave those who crucified Him while He was hanging on the cross, but the details surrounding His death have not been forgotten. Those details have been recorded for us to read in the Bible. Today, there are multitudes singing about "the Lamb Who was slain" around God's throne.
Jesus death has most definitely not been forgotten, though He has completely forgiven those who crucified Him. I share my story in the same way.
Since having surgery, I've wept before God begging Him for a miracle, asking Him for my left ovary and tube to be restored to me. Medically and humanly, it's impossible, but with God, it's not.
I wrote a blog post this past February on my personal blog titled "Psalm 34 - God Hears" which you can read here. What was I praying so earnestly for earlier this year? My left ovary and tube.
I now understand the woman in the Bible who pressed through the crowd to touch the hem of Jesus garment for healing.
I now understand the blind man who cried out "Have mercy on me, Son of David!" when others told him to "hold his peace". ("shut up!") He did not shut up, but cried out even more. Jesus came to Him and healed him.
I may or may not see the miracle I've prayed for, but I choose to trust in God regardless of how He answers. I know God is able, but that decision is up to Him. Our God is a God of redemption. The Lord has a way of redeeming even the hardest, most painful things we go through, even when we don't understand why something had to happen the way it did.
And that is my story.
But somehow, I don't think it's over. I look forward to seeing in the future how God may redeem it.
Disclaimer: I am not a medical doctor, and I have no medical training. The things I share on this blog are simple, practical things that I've learned help with good health.
Comments
Post a Comment